


Ashintully

by katelai



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Historical, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-13
Updated: 2020-05-11
Packaged: 2021-02-22 23:17:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23635294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katelai/pseuds/katelai
Summary: Future AU story about Evelyn Trevelyan, based off of very late Western 1800s Edwardian era. Similar characters, similar story arcs, but takes place a year after Hero of Ferelden and right before Champion of Kirkwall.Evelyn lives at her family's estate, Ashintully, in the Free Marches and has completed most of her magical training. The circles are now universities, but templar oversight of mages is still required. Once Evelyn's templar father passes away a new templar is sent to her estate to watch over her. This is Cullen Rutherford, fresh from the Kinloch tower incident.
Relationships: Cullen Rutherford/Female Trevelyan, Cullen Rutherford/Trevelyan, Female Inquisitor/Cullen Rutherford
Comments: 6
Kudos: 21





	1. Evelyn Trevelyan

The crickets began to chirp as the sun started its downward descent, lighting up the sky in a brilliant display of oranges, yellows, and pinks contrasted against the darkening, tree-filled mountainous landscape. Bann Trevelyan sat in a white wrought iron chair in front of a matching table on the veranda of his home, smoking a cheroot that Evelyn could only distinguish by the orange glow of the tip as her father inhaled. Evelyn stood in the open double doorway, observing her father, wondering if he thought of her mother just then.

“You might as well join me, Fennec,” her father called out. He missed nothing. Fennec was his pet name for her - ever since she was eight and dressed up as one for a school pageant. 

Evelyn sighed and walked to him. She gathered her skirts before sitting - still wearing her formal gown from dinner. It was a beaded frock made from transparent black lace with a high satin waist, worn over a dark satin undergown. Although quite gauche, she had taken off her long satin gloves and the double knotted string of pearls. Her dark red hair was starting to come out of the updo her maid Danielle had labored over earlier and she yearned to pull out all of the tortuous pins. 

“You reminisce about mother,” Evelyn said sadly as she sat down.

“I always think of her when I sit here,” her father responded between puffs of his cheroot cigar. 

“You always sit here,” Evelyn added quietly, already knowing where this conversation would lead. 

“She loved it out here,” he told her, never once taking his eyes off of the skyline. He still wore his white tie and dinner jacket, with a small Templar pin affixed to his lapel. 

Evelyn’s mother had passed when Evelyn was away at the Mage’s circle, receiving an advanced degree in portal mastery and battle techniques. Lady Ysabel Trevelyan, or Red as her father and their friends had called her, was a kind and outgoing woman, as well as a loving wife and caring mother. She had died from a riding accident--the healing physician said Ysabel had most likely passed away instantly after being thrown from her horse. Evelyn had rushed home from the Circle and remained with her father in the many years since.

Belo, Evelyn’s younger brother, had blamed their father for their mother’s death and hadn’t been to their family estate a single time since the accident. He even went as far as refusing to speak even with Evelyn, because she hadn’t abandoned their father as well. 

A racking cough shook Evelyn from her thoughts. 

“You should really stop smoking those,” she told him, a tinge of anger in her voice. He was all she had left, didn’t he know that?

“You should have gone back to the circle,” her father responded without thinking.

Evelyn had completed her portal magic course at home - a mage could do that these days. However, battle magic still needed to be trained in person and at a secure facility, and Evelyn had withdrawn from those advanced courses. She could still make a decent fireball, but mines and other fire-related spellwork were beyond her. If she was being honest with herself, her true desire had been to learn how to become a Knight Enchanter. That, however, required her to travel from the Free Marches to Orlais to seek out the one known Elven trainer, which would never happen because she would never leave her father for an extended period of time.

“If we still locked mages up in the towers, you would’ve had to go back,” her father teased. “Instead of caring for your heart-broken father.”

“Well,” Evelyn responded, crossing her arms. “That barbaric practice no longer exists. Besides, if I wasn’t here, you’d have been eaten alive by mosquitos by now.”

Bann laughed and pulled from his cheroot again. “At least you stayed long enough to learn how to make a simple ward.”

Evelyn rolled her eyes. “Long enough to you is twelve years?” she asked. She’d been at the Mage’s circle in Ostwick from when she presented her abilities at the age of 12, until she was 24. She’d finished basic magical studies early, and gone on to their college program and then graduate studies before dropping out. Her parents had been incredibly proud. 

Bann guffawed, which eventually turned into a cough. He sighed at the cigar in his hand before stamping it out on an ashtray.

“When I’m gone--”

“Don’t you dare,” Evelyn cut him off angrily. 

“When I’m gone,” he continued. “I want you to go back and finish what you started.”

“Father,” Evelyn implored under her breath. “You are  _ not _ dying.”

“At least I didn’t lose my memories, like many Templars do. Although, I do wish Belo was here in the end. I love you my Fen,” he told her. His voice was quiet and solemn. “But I miss your mother ever so much.”

“Papa,” Evelyn cried quietly.

With a groan, Bann rose from his chair, kissing his daughter on the top of her head before going back inside. It was fully dark and the stars had come out. Evelyn stared at the same familiar constellations from her childhood and thought of her mother.

_ Later that night… _

Snuggled up in her four poster bed between soft cotton sheets, a puffy comforter and generous feather mattress, Evelyn dreamt of a Templar. She’d known many in her life - her brother Belo, her father, and the Templars at the circle tower. They all seemed to be divided on their belief in their purpose. Some still thought mages were evil creatures that deserved to be locked up or made tranquil, while others believed they were not only there to protect the public from mages, but there to protect the mages themselves. These were the Templars Evelyn was friendly with, and of one in particular she dreamt of. 

At eighteen, Evelyn had dated another young mage, who was her first beau and first sexual encounter. At the time she’d thought the whole business between men and women was nothing to be concerned about. The man she’d lain with seemed to enjoy their coupling dramatically (and quickly, to her relief), but she didn’t feel the same, and wondered if women just didn’t enjoy the act.

Until Knight-Corporal Philip Mason had walked in on them one afternoon in a secluded area of the library during a day off. Mason was mostly amused, and thankfully Evelyn had just lifted her skirts for ther beau at the time--there wasn’t any awkward shuffling on her part when they were interrupted. Her partner had run off, bright red, with his leggings dragging between his thighs and his tabard dragging after him, and Evelyn couldn’t help but join the Corporal in laughing at the sight. 

After they settled down, Mason jokingly asked her if it was a good spot for a mid-afternoon poking. Evelyn had said that maybe it was for her partner. Eventually, she told the Corporal about her dissatisfaction and the Templar told her that if he had been with her she would’ve been crying his name by the end.

Thus the fliration began. Knight-Corporal Mason, or Philip as he insisted she call him when they were alone, was one of the Templars that actually liked mages and viewed his duty as an honor and privilege. He was also an awful flirt. 

Evelyn sought him out one night after year-end finals. She’d finished an entire bottle of wine on her own and had decided that she was ready for him to prove to her that she’d enjoy a sexual encounter with him. She knew it was forbidden for mages and Templars to get involved romantically, although the rules were gray when it came to sex. She knew many students and faculty had sexual relationships with Templars - the rumors were ever-constant.

However, that night she didn't care. She found him and kissed him before he could say her name, and he had her up against a wall before she could break away to moan freely. Immediately, he lifted her skirts and put his hand on her mound and she whimpered loudly - no one had ever touched her so intimately before. They had sex on the floor in that hallway with most of their clothing still on. Evelyn came first, and several more times again before it was over.

Their exploits continued over the years. To Evelyn, Philip was like a sweet treat and sexual education rolled up into one. She learned what she liked done to her, what positions she enjoyed, what men like done to them, and many other things. During those years she didn’t once think of Philip as more to her than a good friend and bedmate--until one day he told her he loved her. It was like waking up from a dream, and Evelyn realized they couldn’t carry on as they had. Soon after, Philip was transferred to another tower and she never heard from him again. That was another lesson learned. 

She harbored some guilt over the realization that she had toyed with his feelings. However, she felt no guilt over dreaming of him in a myriad of ways, and he was the Templar that occupied her dreams that night.

In her dreamscape, Philip was naked on her four poster bed, on his back with his hands bound to the bedrail. He was breathing deeply as Evelyn ran a father lightly along his bright red, rock hard cock. In this dream she’d been torturing him like this for hours and he had begged to allow him to have his release, but she made him wait. She ran her tongue along it’s hot, velvety length. He groaned. She finally felt a fluttering and knew he was about to come.

“Lady E,” a voice called from the darkness.

“Mmm?” Evelyn intoned, looked up from her conquest. Philip’s form started to dissolve.

“Lady E, it’s your father.”

Immediately, Evelyn awoke from her dream. She fell out of bed, a riot of lacy nightgown and flailing arms. The one who’d been calling her, her maid Danielle, grabbed her by the elbow and led her down the hall to her father’s room. She could hear him wheezing in his bed before she stepped across the threshold.

“Call the healer,” Evelyn told the maid, rushing to her father’s side. 

“He told us not to,” Danielle responded quietly.

“I don’t care, call the healer, now!”

Evelyn took her father’s hand. “Papa, it’s me.”

Bann coughed loudly. Evelyn could hear the fluid in his lungs. 

“Stay with me, Papa,” she cried, moving to sit next to him and wipe his brow with the washcloth on his night-side table.

“I miss her ever so much, my love,” he struggled to tell her.

“I do, too, Papa,” she told him through tears. “But I need you here.”

“I wish Belo was here… I’m sorry, Fen, my darling girl,” He said sadly. Evelyn heard him release a deep breath and knew immediately that he was gone.


	2. Cullin Rutherford

It really was quite preposterous, sending him to the middle of the Maker-damned sticks, he a Knight-Captain with an exemplary record and several commendations. He knew he wasn’t the problem, he knew that mages were the real problem in Thedas, but he wasn’t a Knight-Vigilant. The current Knight-Vigilant was a maker-damned mage lover. Didn’t that foolish man see how dangerous the mage-born were? They could wield fire and lightning and summon demons - how did no one else take issue with that?

Moreover, he didn’t actually kill those three mage-apprentices at the Kinloch circle. They got away. He knew he’d had every right to capture them, too, but of course one of them was noble born and had complained to their uncle at the White Spire. 

Now he had to go babysit some mage upstart noble woman because she refused to live in a city or near a Templar stronghold. Of all the stuck-up things, he thought. He knew her father had been the famous Knight-Divine Bann Trevelyan--he felt bad for the man to have found out his eldest and heir-apparent was a mage. What a nightmare, to have a child that could summon a demon if they felt angry. No wonder, he thought, those awful children are sent away the moment they present powers. 

Cullen sat on a bench seat in the coach car, traveling at speed along the train line that ran from the port at Ostwick to the Trevelyan estate in the Vimmark Mountains. He’d traveled by riverboat from Denerim in Ferelden and was still reeling from being sea-sick the entire three day boat ride. He’d been able to keep a cup of coffee down, but didn’t dare try anything else until the cold sweat abated. 

Besides, he was still too angry to eat. At least that damned Trevelyan woman had purchased him coach fare for both legs of the journey - if he’d been forced to ride in a lower class he might not have been able to make it to the train station in the morning. It was almost time for his lyrium dose--that would staunch any hunger pangs for some time. Lyrium didn’t have the same effect as when he was a new Templar, but his hunger for it was still as strong as ever. He almost yearned to fight in a battle, knowing he’d be able to take increased dosages of the substance in order to sustain himself. But alas, it was just a normal day, and the normal dosage would have to do. A small voice in his head asked him if it was really so bad to take more…

He quickly brushed that thought aside. He’d pulled men out of the lyrium dens in Denerim before--he promised himself he’d never end up there. He drank the small potion he’d prepared earlier in the day and licked his lips to make sure to consume every drop. He once tried to describe how it tasted, as if coldness had a flavor, but also raspberries if they were blue and coated in sugar. His eyes watered and he salivated for more. If he were alone he’d lick the rim of the potion bottle, fill it with water, shake it, and drink it again to get every last drop. He didn’t dare do that here–he didn’t want to attract any unwanted attention.

Cullen hated that he loved the lyrium so much. He hated that he craved it now more than anything else. He hated being beholden to a thing. He hated knowing that without it he’d be nothing. Without it he wouldn’t be a Templar anymore. Hated knowing that eventually the thing he wanted the most would take his memories. He still wanted more. 

He looked out the window to distract himself and cursed the damned Trevelyan mage again for good measure. At least she was responsible for procuring his lyrium--he’d never been able to save a coin at Kinloch because he was forced to purchase his own supply. Most Templars have to, which keeps them beholden to the order, because they can’t afford to strike out on their own. 

~

Once the train arrived at Southwick Village in the Vimmark mountains, the Knight-Captain stepped off and surveyed his surroundings. The first thing he noticed was that it was extremely hot and humid, and the flies were already biting. He cursed his wool uniform - wishing he’d opted for the lighted cotton set. He’d be soaked in sweat by the time he made it up the mountain.

There were only a few buildings, a market, a dress-maker’s shop, a healer’s hut, and a few homes. Miles behind on the mountain side facing the village he could see a large white perfectly symmetric mansion with four gigantic columns adorning a veranda. Ashintully estate: that's where he was going.

The town was a bit old-fashioned, so he wouldn’t be able to hire a car or motorbike to take him up the mountain. However, after arranging to have his trunk brought up later that day, he was able to borrow a horse from the town stable, a calm brown mare with deep chocolate eyes named Almond. He was told an Ashintully groom could bring her back down the mountain the next day. Almond licked him when he led her by the reins out into the street. He pushed her nose away and she neighed at him. 

“She likes you,” the stablehand said raucously and slapped his knee as he laughed. Cullen marched away with the horse, his face and neck a bright red. 

After strapping his two-handed broadsword to the saddle, Cullen hopped on and chose a trail that seemed to lead toward the estate. He’d meant to ask the stablehand for directions, but was too embarrassed to go back. 

Sweat gathered on his neck, which seemed to be attracting insects of the biting kind. The embarrassment only made him feel more overheated in his thick wool uniform. Cullen’s livery consisted of brown knee-length pants, red knee-high socks with a stripe of gold at the top, partially covered leather half-boots, and a brown officer’s coat over a linen under-shirt. A dark brown leather cuirass was strapped across his chest emblazoned with the Templar insignia, leather bracers, and on his head a brown leather officer’s visor with a red ribbon and copper badge. He also wore the traditional Templar red cape, lashed to his back with a thick leather belt. His sister had told him he looked downright dashing in his uniform but all Cullen could think was that he was a fool for wearing it all on such a hot day.

_(My rough drawing of his uniform minus the leather bracers - it’s hard to visualize)_

After riding along for a good twenty minutes, Cullen wished he’d swallowed his pride back in the town and gone to ask for directions. He was now fully enclosed in the forest and couldn’t see where the mountain began and ended. He also could no longer see the bright white Ashintully columns standing out in the summer sun. 

A sign appeared as if by magic the moment Cullen resolved to turn around to head back to the town. It read “Ashintully” and pointed in the direction he was already headed in. Before he knew it he was greeted by a cobblestone drive that meandered under tree cover up the mountain. He wondered why the original road he was riding on didn’t have cobbles. If the builders had come to all that trouble to create a smooth path up the mountain, why stop at the path?

He let the horse lead for several more yards before he came upon stone walls on both sides of him. He realized he was already halfway up the mountain and could see the facade of the mansion peeking through the tree cover. He had to admit that it was a beautiful site. As soon as he cleared a turn the back of the house came into view and goosebumps riddled his arms, even in the oppressive heat of his uniform. Between two stone gateway columns stood the back of the building - a three story Georgian style mansion made of white marble that shone brightly in the sun. 

_Ashintully Estate from the back gate_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ashintully is based off of a real mansion located in Tyringham, Massachusetts. The mansion was completed in 1912 and sadly burning down in 1952, but the land is held is preserve today and is open to the public. The foundation and four doric columns still stand and if you're ever in the area, I encourage you to hike up the mountain, stand amongst the columns, and imagine what life must have been like with such a view.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed experiencing it from Cullen's perspective!


	3. Ashintully

“Dear Mrs. Rodanthia Whitehall,” Evelyn said out loud as she wrote. “Thank you for… being… a,” she paused to fill her pen with ink, “Substantial pig.”

She and her secretary were both sitting at a desk in the library--it was the centermost room on the main floor and attracted the most sunlight each day with floor to ceiling windows buttressed by the four great columns outside. Evelyn looked up at her secretary, Walter, and smiled before continuing with the letter. “Thank you again for… reminding me that…” She looked up for a moment before continuing, “reminding me that _both_ my parents are dead and that my brother is an ass.”

_Ashintully library and music room_

She underlined ‘both’ twice, dotted the period with finality, signed, and threw the pen down. 

“Shall I post that one instead?” she asked Walter before rising.

Walter, bright red now, coughed and stood. “N-no Mistress, I’ll… I’ll send the first one.”

Evelyn was dressed in the proper black-as-night mourning attire - not even a dark shade of gray would do. She wore a high necked blouse with lace trim, a high waisted floor length skirt, and around her neck was a cameo of her father on a gold chain. Her hair was done up high on her head, in what she privately referred to as the mushroom. She stalked to the window and crossed her arms in frustration. Asking her to write thank you letters to funeral attendees was one thing. Asking her to thank the guests that had insulted her in her own home, now _that_ was adding insult to injury.

 _Oh you poor dear_ , so many of them said. _We are so sorry to hear that your father has passed and that you are now all alone. Not even your brother beside you. How tragic! Whatever will you do with this great estate to run? Did you know my son is unmarried?_

She knew Walter meant well - he’d served her family since before Evelyn was born. For him, she’d written dry and formulaic thank you notes to many of the attendees. She had no interest in society these days, but Walter was a stickler for what was right and good. Evelyn also suspected that her father had asked him to watch out for her. It was sweet, but also infuriating.

Danielle walked into the library and Evelyn thanked her quietly for interrupting.

“My lady?” Danielle asked, looking from Evelyn to Walter. 

“It’s quite alright,” Walter said a bit too loud. “I have another appointment. My lady.”

He bowed and left. 

“A templar is here,” Danielle spoke up. “He’s so…” she paused and blushed.

Evelyn raised her eyebrows in question.

Danielle turned a darker shade of red and stared at her mistress wide-eyed.

Evelyn let out a quick laugh and told her maid to send him in. As soon as he strolled through the door the maid turned tail and ran.

This Templar was indeed very handsome--it must have been what set her maid off in a tizzy. He wore the standard Templar wool uniform of brown, brown, red, and more brown. He also stood erect and stiff, sweat visibly dripping down his neck. She wondered what fool would wear wool in this weather. Had he never been to the Free Marches?

“Sir?” she asked. She’d read his name in a missive but had completely forgotten it in all the excitement.

“Knight-Captain Cullen Rutherford reporting, ma’am,” he said stiffly, before clicking his boots together and saluting. He avoided meeting her eyes. 

Ah, she thought, he was one of _those_ Templars. How fun.

“Knight-Captain Rutherford,” Evelyn responded, nodding her head. “I suppose you don’t need me to introduce mys--.”

“Lady Evelyn Trevelyan,” he interjected smoothly. “Late of the Ostwick circle university, daughter of Knight-Divine Bann Trevelyan. Ma’am.”

“Well, nice to meet me too, I suppose,” she responded jokingly. She smiled at the Captain. He didn’t smile back.

“My maid has run off,” she continued. “I’ll show you to your room. I assume you’d like some time to settle in.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” he responded, turning to grab a messenger bag he’d left in the hallway. Evelyn bristled at being called ma’am - she’d never been ma’am’d so many times in one day. 

“Is that all you’ve brought, serah?”

“I’ve left my trunk in the village with a Mister Riley. He said he’d be up with his wagon and the evening deliveries.”

Evelyn smiled as she gestured for Cullen to follow her down the great hallway that ran the length of the house, toward the drawing room. She was relieved he’d run into Charlie Riley in town and not Charlie Roy--Roy would have gladly taken his coin, converted it to drink, and then sold off the contents of the trunk to buy more. Templar be damned, Roy loved his drink.

Evelyn had considered placing the Knight-Captain in one of the vacant servant's rooms on the first floor--she didn’t think the Templar would care if his room was large or had its own hearth. However, her staff generally bristled when strangers invaded their space, so thought it better to keep the peace and sacrifice one of her guest rooms to the new intruder. She certainly had plenty of guest rooms available now that the funeral and wake were in the past. 

She opened the door to one of the guest rooms on the first floor and gestured for him to enter. She hoped he’d be pleased, knowing it was generally cooler on the first floor in summer. Cullen stood on the threshold for a few awkward moments. 

“I hate to ask,” he said quietly. His cheeks turned pink. “Do you sleep on this floor?”

Evelyn blinked and took a step back. What was he insinuating?

Cullen cleared his throat. “It’s a Templar regulation,” he cut in hurriedly. “I have to lodge on the same floor within 100 feet.”

Evelyn released a deep breath. _Oh that_ , she thought. On the second floor, Evelyn’s family had a suite of rooms in the north wing of the house, and guest rooms in the southern wing. It wouldn’t be right to place him in her father’s or brother’s rooms, but figured the closest guest quarters to hers would have to do. She hadn’t measured the distance between rooms but thought it would be amusing to ask the head footman to bring the ruler he used to measure place settings.

“Of course, follow me upstairs.” 

She turned on her heel. She could hear the Knight-Captain lumbering behind.

Once they got up the main staircase and to a second floor guest room, Evelyn rang the servant bell since the room itself was not yet set up for guests. She’d need the staff to bring clean linens up and to remove the recently placed muslins protecting the furniture from dust.

“I’m sorry,” she said, turning to him again. “It’s not quite done up yet.”

Cullen stood at a window facing the Vimmark mountains, he hands on his hips. The guest room was at the front of the house, above the drawing room, and looked out onto the landscape that Evelyn’s parents had loved so much. It was a bit stuffy, so she walked to a window and struggled to open it. 

Cullen easily motioned her aside and dragged it open in one swift motion with tearing of dried paint and warped wood. Evelyn was wide-eyed and would have laughed if anyone else had been there. 

“We do get a nice breeze up here this time of year,” she recovered, turning to him. “But I’ll have Danielle bring you a frost rune--it'll get quite humid and hot at night during mid-summer.”

“I’m sure I’ll be fine,” Cullen brushed her off. His attention was still focused out the window. He crossed his arms. Evelyn wondered if he was angry or just awkward.

“You may need to count the feet but my room is just down the hall,” she added. He was silent, looking away. She figured it would be wise to leave the part about the footman’s ruler out.

“I’m from the country in Ferelden,” he told her, turning to take in the room. “My parent’s house was about as big as this bedroom.”

 _Wait until he sees my room_ , she thought.

“May I see your room?” he asked. Evelyn blinked a few times, wondering if this Templar could read minds.

“It would be good to know, just in case there’s an incident,” he added, raising his eyebrows. At least he was looking at her this time.

It was Evelyn’s turn to blush. _Just in case I turn into an abomination_ , she thought to herself. She wasn’t sure if she was embarrassed or angry and suddenly missed her father desperately. She turned and quickly blinked away tears. 

Oblivious, the templar dropped his bag and followed her back out into the hall and to the family wing of her home. Evelyn opened her bedroom door and gestured him inside, still feeling too upset to talk. 

When it came to decor and size, Evelyn always through her room was nothing special. The one good part was that it faced the mountain range west of the house and had afternoon sunlight streaming in. She had a queen-size four-poster canopy bed and a sitting area before the fireplace, where a stuffed fennec sat among plush throw pillows. Photographs of her father, mother, brother, and a few friends sat on the fireplace mantle. There was also a great big oak writing desk that doubled as a vanity, a potion making station that her father had made for her, and a collection of antique mage staffs and wands that she’d been collecting since she was a child. The staffs were all on display on an inner wall, affixed to it with brass hooks. 

Cullen walked a circle around the large room, took in the staff collection a beat longer than anything else, before heading back into the hallway. He thanked her and retreated to his room. Evelyn was grateful for the brevity. 

She dropped to the couch and hugged the stuffed Fennec that her father had given her.


	4. Getting settled

How in the maker’s name, Cullen wondered, did one woman justify living in such a massive house? He’d gone back to his quarters after touring Lady Trevelyan’s, and began taking sheets off the furniture. He felt bad for disrupting her plans--she’d clearly had a downstairs guest room ready for him already. What was he supposed to do? Break regulation? If he was going to do this nonsense noble babysitting job, he was going to do it right. 

A soft knock came at the half-open door. A small red-headed Elfen maid poked her head in, the one that had answered the door earlier. What was her name… Daschel? Darrial? Danella?

“Yes?” he asked tersely, turning to face her. The poor thing blushed redder than even he was capable of. 

“L-l-lady Evelyn requests your p-p-presence for the e-e-evening m-meal,” she barely managed to get out. 

Maker’s breath, what was her name? And why was she so scared of him?

“Miss Danae?” Cullen asked, hoping he’d gotten her name right.

“Danielle,” the elf corrected him, standing taller as she said her own name.

“Miss Danielle,” Cullen continued. “I regret that I left my dress uniform in my trunk--it’s not due until Riley arrives this evening.”

He knew enough about nobility to know that they all dressed up for their evening meal, as if it was a special event every single night of the week. 

“L-lady Evelyn said that you’ll h-h-have a c-casual meal on the v-veranda.”

Daneille turned to someone behind her and moved from the doorway. Another servant, another female elf, sauntered into the room.

“Aye messere,” the servant said in a thick cockney accent. “We’s been asked to set the room up right an’ te’ run ye a bath.”

Before Cullen could rebuff her, she had entered the bathroom, and another elf had moved into the room to start stripping cloth coverings. He blinked again and they had the bed made up and most of the sheets carted out. The water in the bathroom was running and a servant was hauling his overstuffed bag up onto the bed.

“I can do that!” he said frantically before they had a chance to open it. He marched to the bathroom and shooed the last remaining maid out, insisting he could run his own bath. 

“They should conscript those maids into the Templars,” he remarked to himself as he undressed for the bath. Once he had the last damned piece of fabric off of his body he sank into the water with a relieved ahh. He hadn’t had a proper bath in months and the luxury of having his own tub attached to his room wasn’t something he was about to complain about. 

He stroked himself under the water, toying with the idea of fantasizing about Lady Trevelyan. The thought made him hard faster than he liked to admit, but resolved on an old favorite fantasy to bring himself some relief. He settled on the angelic snow white breasts of a fellow Templar, Leandra Rivers. They’d been involved for some months when they were both stationed at Kinloch and he’d spent hours worshipping her delicate breasts. He came hard, arching his back, the moment he thought about piercing her with his cock. Cullen bit his cheek to prevent himself from calling out--Leandra had often told him he was a loud lover.

_ That evening... _

Cullen stepped outside onto the massive columned veranda. He’d had an amazing view while journeying up the mountain, but the one from the veranda put it to shame. Rolling mountains were visible in the setting light and the sky was lit up in shades of pink, red, and orange. Cullen had regretfully put his wool uniform back on (minus the cape), but was relieved to have found a clean shirt in his satchel.

Lady Evelyn sat in a white wrought-iron chair facing the setting sun. She wore a different outfit than the one she’d been wearing earlier. This one was still black, but was made mostly of linen trimmed with lace, an open vee over a lace placket, low gathered waist, and large loose sleeves that ended at her elbows. Her hair was done up high and large, as it was before, and she sported long lace gloves. 

She was a beautiful woman, Cullen was forced to admit. She hadn’t noticed he was there and still looked at the setting sun. A look of profound sadness was settled on her face. He wondered if she thought of her father. 

He cleared his throat--not wanting her to think he was spying. In a moment, her face turned from great sadness to a genuine smile when she looked upon him. He wondered how she did it with so much grace. 

“Please join me, Knight-Captain.” She gestured to the chair next to her. 

“I hope my outfit doesn’t offend,” he said smoothly as he sat. Lady Evelyn looked at his uniform for a beat and smiled.

“I didn’t want to sound presumptuous and expect you to bring dinner dress on your journey,” she explained, straightening the napkin on her lap. “And you do not offend at all--although I worry that you may melt in wool in this humidity.”

Was she teasing him? He wasn’t sure if it was genuinely kind jibing or if her teasing was cruelly intended. He’d often encountered noble mages at Kinloch that treated him as he was the dirt under their shoes, but only after luring him into making a fool of himself for their enjoyment. 

“It’s still cold in Ferelden in the mountains,” he explained. “I’ve never been to the Free Marches before--it was a foolish decision, I admit.”

Lady Evelyn inhaled, preparing to respond, but was saved when the first course was brought out. Cullen hadn’t been able to keep solid food down since before he left Ferelden and he realized when the first course arrived that he was ravenously hungry. He forced himself to be polite and eat slowly, but he secretly wished he could eat every morsel on his and on his dining partner’s plates. He wondered if he was salivating, waiting for her to finish before the next course. 

“Is the room to your liking?” Evelyn asked before taking another sip of her wine.

“Yes, thank you,” Cullen responded, bouncing his knee. “Your staff was able to set it to rights quickly--they’re an impressive lot.”

“I cherish them,” she agreed. “Since my father passed away, it’s been so comforting to have them here and know I’m not alone.”

The moment the sun completely cleared the mountains a ring of fairy lights sprung to life around the exterior of the estate. It provided a romantic atmosphere for an outdoor meal. 

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Cullen added after a beat. He was ashamed for not having said it earlier. “I met your father once. He was an accomplished templar, one many of us admired.”

“Thank you,” she responded quietly, looking at her plate and blinking fast. She smiled brightly at the elf that brought their next course. 

When she smiled like that, Cullen thought, it was like the sun had popped back up over the mountains to the west. He wished for a moment that she’d smile like that at him, before quickly reminding himself that she was a mage. 

“Knight-Captain, I was wondering.” She poked at her second dish with her fork. “I don’t actually know what a Templar would do when assigned to a home like mine. What are your duties?”

“Oh,” Cullen responded, chewing quickly. “Your father didn’t explain? There isn’t much to it. I’ll be here in case you should need me for any reason. I don’t need to be at your side every moment of every day. For instance, if you go down to the village, there isn’t a strong need for me to accompany you. That is, unless you leave for an overnight trip, then I would be expected to join you.”

“And if I go to Denerim or Ostwick, where there’s a Templar base?”

“It’s generally recommended that I accompany you,” Cullen explained, a blush running up his neck. He knew Lady Trevelyan was a portal mage--he’d never stepped through a portal before and didn’t love the idea. He didn’t want to have to explain that the White Spire wanted him to tail her just in case she decided to run away to Tevinter or some other absurd place. 

“Will you stand guard, like a brooding suit of armor?” she asked teasingly. It was clear in the tone of her voice that she didn’t love this new arrangement.

“I’ll try to be quiet and ensure that you don’t notice me.” Cullen swallowed an unchewed bite, realizing he just said he’d spy on her.

Evelyn rolled her eyes and set her fork down. She signalled her servant to bring the next course. Cullen quickly wolfed down the rest of his plate, not caring if it appeared rude. He figured he was already on her list, he might as well not walk away from this meal starving.

When the next plates were delivered, he continued. “I’m not here to spy on you.”

Evelyn looked towards the twilight sky and mountains and huffed out a deep breath. “And what did you do, Knight-Captain, to get this fun assignment.”

Cullen blushed.  _ I almost killed three mages, _ he thought.  _ I’m addicted to lyrium _ , he mentally added. _ I think mages are too dangerous to roam free. _

His Maker-damned face always showed what he was feeling, She’s a  _ mage _ , he reminded himself. He didn’t have to explain anything to her. 

“I’m hoping to be stationed in Kirkwall come next year.” While not technically a complete lie, that’s where he’d been hoping to be stationed  _ now _ . 

“This was one of the only openings in the Free Marches…” he added weakly. Maker, he should have thought of a better excuse on the way here. 

It was clear that Lady Evelyn didn’t buy a word of it. He figured there was a chance that she already knew the answer to her question and if she didn’t before now, she would most likely be writing letters tonight to find out  _ why _ he was there.

The next few courses passed in silence. At the end of the meal Cullen returned to his room feeling ashamed. He tried to remind himself that he was in the right, but in his gut he knew that wasn’t true. 


	5. Habits be damned

“Yes, thank you, Daisy,” Evelyn responded, standing next to her dressmaker at the entrance of the shop in Southwick village. That morning she’d ridden her horse down to the village for a fitting to have more black dresses and gowns made--she hadn’t been prepared to be in mourning for an entire year. She wished Daisy a warm farewell and stepped down onto the dusty road. Today she was wearing wide legged brown riding pants, a black blouse, and a red leather vest. She didn’t think anyone in society would see her in her riding attire that was decidedly not in standard mourning black. 

Evelyn hoped to have time to head over to visit Riley at his farm before heading back up to Ashintully. She was checking her watch for the time when she noticed Knight-Captain Cullen riding down from the mountain. He was wearing brown linen half paints with the same tall red socks, a snow white linen shirt, and his leather templar cuirass and bracers. His gigantic two-handed broadsword stuck out over his shoulder. In this outfit, she could tell how muscular he was and licked her lips. She wondered what he was like in bed but quickly dashed that thought away. He was most likely a mage-hating holier-than-thou templar who took his assignments far too seriously. 

Determined to have time for Riley that afternoon, she untied her horse from the railing in front of the dress shop and mounted. 

~

Cullen pretended not to notice Evelyn as she mounted her horse. He was surprised to see that she wasn’t in all black that afternoon and was glad some of her perfect hair falling loose. He was also a little shocked that she mounted her horse like a man and rode astride. The thought turned him on more than he cared to admit. Mage she may be, he was still intrigued by her. The moment she trotted off away from the mansion, he decided to follow.

Across one wheatfield outside of town she stopped at that man Riley’s homestead. Cullen wondered what business she had at his house. Riley himself noticed her riding up and met her at the doorway with a wide knowing grin. Evelyn grinned in return, grabbed his hand, and followed him into the house, slamming the door behind her.

Cullen had a feeling what was going on inside that house and turned his horse back toward the village. Did the woman have no shame? 

~

“Would ye like an ale before round two,” Riley lazily asked Evelyn, who was sprawled beside him breathing deeply. She was grateful that he never tried to cuddle with her or kiss her tenderly after they were done, and that he agreed with her explicitly about their arrangement. They were both taking something from the other that they needed, but feelings need not be involved. 

Evelyn took a breath and gathered the energy to adjust her blouse before searching for her trousers. 

“I take that as a no,” Riley groused, his voice raspy from lust. 

Sorry was at the tip of her tongue before she bit it back. Evelyn had never before felt guilty for using Riley in this way, but suddenly she was awash in guilt. Reality came crashing down--she’d just lost her father and she was alone in that great big house. Not even her brother had returned. She knew she didn’t want Riley as a partner, but she was starting to realize that she yearned for a companion. How these weeks would have been so different if she had had someone that cared deeply for her by her side. 

Blinking tears away, she pulled on the rest of her garments and faked a smile. “Maybe next time,” she told Riley, who was still sprawled naked in his bed. She bent to pat his cheek and left. 

Evelyn grappled with these feelings for her entire ride back up the mountain. She was so consumed with them she didn’t realize she was home until her horse stopped calmly before the tie bars affixed to the Ashintully carriage house. She dismounted and led her horse by the reins to the ajar barn door that led to the dim interior, but paused for a moment to allow her eyes to adjust to the low light. 

Cullen was in the first open stall before the door, brushing down a brown mare. He hadn’t noticed her, and kept brushing, his forearms flexing with every swipe. He’d taken off his cuirass and bracers, and rolled his sleeves up to his elbows. The back of his shirt was stuck to his skin from sweat, and Evelyn noticed that the fringe of his hair was dark and damp. She wondered what he looked like after making love. 

Evelyn, mesmerized by the movement of Cullen’s arms, lost track of time and didn’t move when her eyes became fully adjusted to the gloom. She jumped about ten inches when her horse whinnied softly in her ear and noticed Cullen turn at the sound. He must have found the look on her face amusing because he smirked before turning away, red appearing on his neck. 

Clearing her throat, Evelyn led her mare into her stall. “Knight-Captain,” she said, surprised at how husky her voice sounded.

“Mage,” Cullen responded softly. “You have a good  _ ride _ ?” he asked her sarcastically, implying more with his tone. 

It felt like cold water had been splashed on her head. How did he know? Evelyn asked herself, busying her hands with the work of removing her horse’s saddle. Her face burned with shame. She cursed Cullen for making her feel shame while doing a thing she had a right to.

“Why do you care?” she asked him, slamming the saddle down on the stable rail. 

“I  _ don’t _ ,” he said quietly. Despite his words, it sounded like he cared. This man had just arrived yesterday, how had he gotten under her skin so quickly? Evelyn tried to calm herself while brushing down her horse. She was grateful when a stable hand approached and took over the task, so she could stalk back to the house for a bath. 

~

Time began to roll lazily on for Cullen that summer at Ashintully. He’d found it best to ignore Evelyn as much as he could afford -- to avoid her when she traipsed into the village or, he guessed, sought out a conquest. In the darkest area of his mind he imagined her laying with many of the village men and several of the servants in her home. He tried not to think of her with anger, knowing full well that he was to protect her as well, but frequently failed in that task. Whenever he spoke to a local man, be it staff or villager, he couldn’t help but wonder if they’d been with her intimately. It didn’t help his ego that she was clearly trying to ignore him as well. She’d barely spoken to him since that day in the barn.

It was easy not to pay attention when he stood guard at her fancy dinner parties or when she entertained guests for tea or musicalles. She was a cultured woman and he assumed she had to keep up appearances. She probably enjoyed seeing him sweat in his formal uniform, stone faced as her guests gawked at him. 

One afternoon she was entertaining a fellow mage, Ms. Hatte Gardner, who’d arrived last minute by portal with another templar on the veranda for tea. The mage and templar were to stay the night in guest chambers and leave first thing in the morning, once the mage had restored her energy reserves. Cullen stood guard over the meeting while the other templar, a Knight-Captain Andre Gustav, went into town to pick up supplies for the mage.

“He’s been stripped of his rank,” he heard Ms. Gardner state urgently. “They say he was overcome with lyrium addiction..” the mage continued, piquing Cullen’s interest. 

“Oh… Belo,” Evelyn whispered quietly. Sadly. “Do you think it’s because of our father's passing?”

“I don’t know,” Hatte responded. “I’ve heard everything second hand. You know how things are in Denerim.”

Trevelyan’s brother resided in Denerim? How odd, to be a templar from the Free Marches and not be stationed there. One would have to put in a special request to be transferred out of the country. Moreover, the brother now disgraced, giving into the lyrium. Was there rot all around this family? 

“I’ll have to go see what I can do,” Evelyn said quietly. Cullen could hear her clothing rustle as she moved her chair. He could see her in his mind’s eye, without even looking. He knew she must have been leaning back with her arms crossed and that she was probably avoiding eye contact, staring off into the distance. She’d assumed that position the first night they’d dined together.

“We must have Andre with us for dinner, he can elaborate on the gossip. Perhaps your templar should join as well, so he doesn’t feel left out. Besides, he’ll be joining you when you portal there.”

Cullen rolled his eyes, but kept his body away from the pair, to pretend that he didn’t hear. His heart rate picked up at the thought of stepping through a mage portal. 

“He’s not much for company, but I’ll ask,” Evelyn responded sardonically. Cullen could feel her eyes burning into the back of his head. 

~

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” Cullen whispered to himself as his hands shakily buttoned up his second fresh shirt of the day. He couldn’t get them to stop shaking. He knew the lyrium would steady him but wasn’t due for his next dose until the morning. It was a slippery slope, he told himself, but knew he wanted to be alert for the conversation. Was I like this before the first time? Cullen asked himself. He had a hard time imagining what life had been like before he started taking the drug. He had been so proud that day, but now he felt like a bit of a fool. He’d been too young to fully understand the consequences of that decision. 

Hands still shaking, with a grater, he scraped a fresh lyrium crystal over a mortar before methodically crushing it with his pestle. He filled a vial from his water basin to the minimum amount and began heating it over a candle. When it was ready, he used a funnel to pour the powdered crystals into the vial and rotate it slowly while holding it over the candle flame. The crystals dissolved in warm water and were easier to absorb into the body in liquid form. In the past, while in a pinch, he’d sucked on on raw lyrium rocks or snorted it powdered, like the lyrium addicts do, but he wasn’t an addict. He was strong enough to go through this ritual. 

A knock came at the door. Frustrated, Cullen called the person to enter. He was surprised to find the other templar standing on the threshold to his chambers.

Knight Captain Gustav eyed Cullen’s lyrium operation and smiled. The man knew templars were only permitted to take the drug in the morning at 0800 and in the afternoon at 1400. That’s why they all carried pocket watches. All other use was strictly prohibited. Cullen, realizing that he’d been caught up, started to run through a list of excuses he’d used in the past. He was getting it ready for tomorrow morning, he’d forgotten his earlier dosage, he’d gotten special permission while on this mission…

“May I join you?” the templar asked, still smiling. Cullen was too stunned to answer.

“I swear the portal magic saps lyrium from your body,” the man explained, eyebrows raised. “Besides, a little nip before a formal dinner with two noble mages, any templar would understand.”

Cullen let out a relieved breath. “Of course,” he told Gustav, and handed him the prepped vial before readying another. Once it was done, Gustav said, “cheers!” and downed his in one gulp. He stuck his finger in the vial to correct the remains and rubbed them over his gums. Cullen followed suit and immediately felt the buzz in his blood accompanied by a strong sense of awareness. He was ready for dinner. 

~

Feeling a bit like a green templar recruit after a rationed daily dose, Cullen bounced his knee energetically under the dinner table. His thoughts racing about how he missed this feeling. When he joined the templars, after every dosage the buzz would get weaker and shorter, until it all settled into a mere seconds long high followed by a momentary feeling of relief. Then no need for more. Until the urges set in again a few hours later. 

Across the table sat the other templar, Gustav, and Cullen noticed his pupils were almost fully dilated. He wondered if his own eyes looked the same and if the two mages had noticed. He didn’t think Evelyn had yet looked at him once during the meal. He had looked at  _ her _ , because she looked spectacular in her evening gown.

She wore a black a low cut gown this evening and her milky white breasts almost spilled over the top of the decolletage. Cullen had a sudden urge to reach his hands into her gown and spill her breasts out. He wanted to feast on her nipples so much he almost began to drool… He calmly lowered his hand to adjust the seam of his pants, hoping no one had noticed that either. Looking at Evelyn’s breasts had affected him more than he realized, so he forced his eyes away. Why did she have to be so Maker damned beautiful?

Where is it safe to set my eyes? he wondered, settling them back on the other templar, who was currently feasting his eyes on the mage he’d accompanied here. How had he not noticed the flirtatious smile before now? And it was clear Ms. Gardner’s face was a mirror of Gustav’s. Oh the Maker, was everyone fucking everyone else and had he just failed to realize it until now? 

“Mmhmm,” Evelyn loudly cleared her throat. Cullen wondered how long they’d all sat there in silence, lust permeating the room like air. He noticed Ms. Gardner look away from Gustav, her face aflame. “Shall we get to business?”

~

Had Cullen been truly staring at her breasts? She’d thought this gown, newly arrived from the dress shop in town, a bit tight but was suddenly self conscious of how much of her cleavage was showing. Maybe she should have worn a lace placket to cover her chest, but she was admittedly pleased that she’d finally been about to have some effect on the stoney templar. 

“Pray tell me what you have heard of Belo, serah,” she said directly to Knight-Captain Gustav. 

“Only that he is no longer of our ranks and one of my men on patrol saw him exit a known lyrium den near the market square. I am sorry I do not know more, m’Lady.”

“Thank you,” Evelyn told him truthfully. “Were you stationed with him? Did you know him when he was there?”

Gustav paused to chew. “I knew him a bit, but he kept to himself. He is of the mage-hating sort and I am not.” Gustav made eye contact with Hatte at that last statement.

Evelyn tried to hide her gasp. When had her brother become this man? And since when had Hatte taken up with this templar captain? Were they aware of the risks?

“When was the last time you saw him?” Cullen asked Evelyn gently. 

“Before our mother died, right before I went back to the circle to further my studies,” Evelyn told him sadly, making eye contact with Cullen for the first time in weeks. “He had carved me a new staff out of yew and entreated me to have it enchanted.”

Cullen, unable to hold her stare, looked down at his plate.

“Then, after our mother passed…” Evelyn swallowed. “He wrote to our father and begged to be transferred out of the country. He said he couldn’t bear to be so close to a place that made him so sad.”

“Oh, Belo,” Hatte whispered quietly, staring at her meal.

“Hatte, save your strength,” Evelyn said, breaking the silence. “I will portal us all to Denerim in the morning. Cullen will accompany me to Belo’s flat.”

She noticed Cullen pale and move his hands to his lap. “Have you ever traveled by portal, Knight-Captain?”

“No, my lady,” he responded, meeting her eyes again. “I don’t have a strong desire to.”

Evelyn smiled to herself, remembering how much he disliked mages. “If you should prefer to stay,” she teased. She’d enjoy this.

Cullen released a deep breath and pinched the bridge of his nose. Hatte failed to stifle a giggle. 

“Of course I’ll travel with you,” Cullen told her sullenly. 

~

Maker, how had he come to be in this position? With lyrium still coursing through his veins and the anxiety of portal travel in his near future, he was unable to sleep. It didn’t help that his cock was harder than a fresh lyrium crystal and all he could think of was Evelyn’s breasts in that damned gown. And he didn’t want his hand tonight, he wanted to fuck. He refused to admit to himself  _ who _ he wanted to fuck. It didn’t help that he could hear Gustav and Ms. Gardner making love in the other guest chamber. Couldn’t they have at least taken a room further down the hall?

Cullen wondered if Evelyn could hear it. Should he take a peek at her door and see if she was awake? Maker, of all the foolish thoughts he’d had, that was the worst one. He settled for his hand… and the thought of those milky white breasts in his mind’s eye. He’d never lay with a mage, but it was certainly okay to fantasize about one. 

~

“Is everybody fucking tonight,” Evelyn asked herself quietly. She rolled over in her bed and held her pillow over her head. Down the hall, Hatte cried out in pleasure and then all was quiet. 

“I wonder what Rutherford is thinking of all this,” she whispered, chuckling. As Evelyn finally started to drift off a few minutes later, she heard a male groan of pleasure and knew it came from the man in the next room. Maybe he had the right idea, she thought to herself, lifted the hem of her nightgown, and imagined the noises he’d make if she was on top of him. 


	6. Denerim

In the basement of Ashintully was a sealed iron room with one rune-painted wall made of pure obsidian. The key to this room, Cullen learned, hung on a chain around Evelyn’s neck. No other members of her staff had one. Apparently, once upon a time, her father and mother each wore keys, but the locks were changed after each person passed. 

Portal magic, as he was coming to understand, was extremely dangerous. Not for the portal maker herself in practice or execution, but for the fact that one doesn’t know what will greet one on the other side. In addition to this factor, mages have a better chance of success when opening portals to and from obsidian stones. Cullen had frequently wondered why he didn’t see portal mages pop in and out of every which way, but had always been too afraid to ask. 

Apparently, Evelyn’s family was close with that of Arl Graymain Kendell's family, who had been ruling Denerim for more than a century. The Kendells also possessed a similar room in their basement and were expecting them.

To say the portal room was cramped would be optimistic. With two armed templars, the baggage of two noble ladies, the ladies themselves, and a small cot and ewer, it was comical. Cullen almost laughed when Evelyn tried to squeeze past the group in order to lock the door behind them. Once that task was complete, Evelyn had Cullen and Gustav crouch on the cot (which creaked a warning under their weight) and had Hattie take up position against the door. 

“Once I complete the portal, you cannot hesitate,” she said, pointedly looking at Cullen. “It is an incredible drain of energy and I won’t be able to hold it for very long.  _ Do not _ touch the sides of the portal. Hatte first, then Captain Gustav, Captain Rutherford, and I’ll follow last.”

Cullen took in a breath to protest, but Evelyn held up a hand. “I have to be last - once I step through, I can’t hold it any longer.”

“We’ll be quick,” was Cullen’s response. Evelyn sighed and began casting, saying enchantments in a foreign tongue. Bright silver bursts of magic streamed from her fingertips and merged with the obsidian wall, forming a large oval. As soon as the oval was formed, Hatte rushed through, not allowing a second of hesitation. Gustav was next, dragging Cullen off the cot as he walked through. Cullen didn’t allow himself to think and stepped in, as if he was strolling through a dark doorway. 

Darkness surrounded him, with small sparks of light glittering around his periphery.  _ Belo _ , he heard Evelyn whisper desperately.  _ You’re all I have left. Please don’t leave me.  _ He heard a cry and then with his next step he was in another lantern lit room, being pulled away from the portal by the other templar. Evelyn was right behind him, pale and withdrawn, and a moment later the portal closed. Cullen had his arms around her before she fell to the ground.

~

“I don’t want to waste any time--I need to see Belo,” Evelyn implored across the tea table. She was seated on an armchair next to a roaring fire at the Arl’s estate. Hatte sat across from her sipping tea and Cullen and Gustav stood guard by the door, still very much a part of the conversation.

“You fainted the moment you stepped through,” Hatte responded sternly. “You only just woke up and it’s almost time for lunch. You’ll go see Belo in the morning. Right, Captain Rutherford?”

Cullen cleared his throat. “I don’t know much about portal magic, but it may be best to reserve your strength. Lyrium addiction…” he looked at Gustav. “It can ravage a healthy man’s body.”

The way Cullen spoke, Evelyn noticed, seemed wary and worried. She could tell he had feared for her. He’d been sitting, holding her in his arms, when she’d awoken in the portal room, and he had been the one to carry her to a bed in the Arl’s estate. He sat beside her until she slept again and she’d been disappointed when she woke the second time, to not find him beside her. She’d seen the look in his eyes and would never forget it. Would never forget how safe she felt in his arms.

Noticing her stare, Cullen blushed and looked into the fire. Did he feel it, too? she wondered. A shiver of fear passed through her. She knew what taking up with a templar could do to your reputation. She eyed Hatte, who was trying to look unobtrusive all of a sudden.

“The templars can go,” Evelyn said dismissively. “Cullen, you have a room here if you wish. Otherwise, I expect you back first thing.”

After both had left, Hatte made to leave. “Sit,” Evelyn ordered her sternly. When her friend plopped back down into the seat, Evelyn continued. “If I have to stay here and rest all day, I hope to the Maker you can explain to me why you’re risking your independence to fuck a templar.”

~

Where did this woman pack that massive hat? Cullen asked himself as he trailed Evelyn down a busy Denerim market square. She wore a fine black wool coat over a mourning dress and a massive brimmed hat covered in black floral decoration. Moreover, somehow her hair had been styled to look puffed up under the hat. He wondered how women endured the fashion of their time. She looked like a black confection. 

Cullen was thankful that she walked briskly--he was as eager to get this entire ordeal over with as fast as she was. He had reminded her earlier that he didn’t need to come with her, that Denerim had regular templar patrols, but she’d insisted. She thought perhaps he could help, being that he was a templar as well. He could have insisted that he had other errands to run or that he had to check in at the templar fort, but was curious to know what had become of Lord Belo Trevelyan.

“This is the address,” Evelyn told him as she stopped in front of a townhouse that had seen better days. About fifty years earlier, most of the interior wards in Denerim had been rebuilt with brick after a great fire, and this row house was one of the newer buildings. Newer, as in not during the golden age of King Alistair and the inquisition, but not newer, as in looking new. 

“Is this your family’s townhouse?” Cullen asked, baffled. He’d known the Trevelyan’s did own a home in Denerim but even to Cullen’s untrained eye, knew this row house was not in a good neighborhood or in good repair. 

“No,” Evelyn told him warily. “I don’t know why Belo didn’t decide to stay there when he left the templars. I would have had the servants open it up for him.”

Maker what a life, Cullen thought. To have all this wealth within reach and then not take it. Evelyn knocked tentatively on the door until she found it slid open as if it had not even been locked.

Cullen stepped through first, wary now because of the unlocked front door.

“He’s on the second floor,” Evelyn told him quietly. He could hear some fear in her voice. Hadn’t she been training to become a battle mage?

They took the stairs slowly, pausing at every creak of the boards, staying quiet to hear any approaching footsteps. When they reached the door at the top of the second floor landing, Cullen tested the door knob, found it was still locked, and stepped aside to allow Evelyn to knock. He stood guard with his hand on his dagger. 

Footsteps could be heard on the other side of a door. It opened a few inches and a woman with rotted teeth and in her undergarments appeared. The smell hit Cullen before Evelyn began to talk. He knew none of these addicts would be able to put up a fight, and took his hand off his dagger.

“Is Belo Trevelyan here?” Evelyn asked quietly. While she waited for an answer she raised her handkerchief to cover her mouth and nose. 

“Aye,” the woman said, face neutral. 

“May I see him, messere,” Evelyn asked from behind the handkerchief.

The woman exhaled through her nose and stepped aside to let them in. The apartment was filthy, with food waste, trash, and dirty clothing scattered over the floor. Empty bottles covered most of the available surfaces. What Cullen first thought was a pile of dirty clothes on a couch turned out to be a gaunt man covered in a filthy white sheet.

“Maker,” Evelyn whispered and moved to kneel before her brother. “Belo.”

“E,” Belo said, his voice raspy. He looked at her a moment, blinked away some sort of delirium, and cleared his throat. “The fuck you doing here?”

Evelyn sat back on her heels and blinked. “I heard about what happened. Are you alright?”

“You have money?” he asked. He struggled to sit up on the couch and toss the sheet aside. Cullen could see he wore a union suit undergarment and a pair of unbuttoned trousers. His hair was greasy and fell over his eyes. It clearly had not been cut in months--if Belo had been a templar recently he’d still be sporting hair trimmed to military length. 

“I do,” Evelyn responded, handing him a pouch of gold. Cullen couldn’t believe she’d give it over so easily. Belo stuffed it in his pocket. 

“Do you still get the check I send you every month?” Evelyn asked, looking around at the mess. “Do you want me to have a regular maid come by?”

“I get the pity check and no I don’t want a fucking maid,” Belo said, suddenly angry, taking in her hat and mourning dress. He ground his teeth for a moment before noticing Cullen. “The fuck is he doing here?”

Evelyn looking at Cullen, at a loss for words. “I’m just a friend,” he told Belo. Arms out in a calming gesture.

“Are you here to drag me back to the templars?” Belo asked him. “Or is she your whore now?”

“No I’m not and that is no way to talk to your sister, soldier,” Cullen responded angrily before reaching to help Evelyn stand.

“What happened to you, Belo?” Evelyn asked. Cullen could tell she was struggling to stay calm, that all of this was a surprise to her as well.

Belo laughed. “What happened? My fucking sister is an angel and our parents didn’t give a shit about me. All the while you’re fucking anything with a dick behind our parents back. My dad’s a templar and he favored the fucking mage. I’m the laughing stock of the order!”

Cullen ground his teeth and started to pull Evelyn from the room, but she held firm where she was and turned to her brother. “I love you, Belo. When you want to come home let me know. I’ll have your room ready.”

When she was done she turned and hurried from the room, down the stairs, and out to the street. Cullen had to skip steps in the stairwell to keep up with her. Neither of them got a chance to see Belo’s reaction.

~

“Lady Trevelyan,” Evelyn could hear Cullen call, from a few steps behind her.

“Where is that damned bar,” she muttered to herself, still speed walking down the cobblestone streets of Denerim.

“Lady Trevelyan,” Cullen tried again, trying to move through the crowded streets preventing him from walking next to his charge. Evelyn didn’t notice.

“Evelyn,” he groused angrily and finally she stopped. He’d never called her Evelyn before. “Evelyn,” he said again, quietly this time.

“The Gnawed Noble,” she told him desperately. “I need a drink. Or ten.”

“Right,” responded as he took her arm and led her down the street. 

_ The Gnawed Noble _

West Hill brandy is usually only served at fetes and musicalles where the garments worn are sweeter and brighter than the confections brought in. Where at least one eligible wallflower faints at the sight of an unmarried Duke, who also happens to be handsome. But it would do. Evelyn needed to drink something fast and didn’t want to burn her guts out with the White Shear whiskey. Everyone knew White Shear is best for shipping.

Captain Rutherford, bless his heart, also ordered himself a shot of the sickly sweet black currant and honeysuckle concoction. 

“Bottoms up,” she told him before drinking it all in one gulp. Bless the maker it was awful. So she ordered another round, but also some ale to wash the awful taste away. 

“Belo is a real asshole,” she told Cullen before shooting her second shot. The poor templar was still struggling to finish his first one. 

Evelyn’s lips wobbled for a moment. Fearing she might cry, she drank the captain’s second shot for him.

“Woah,” he told her, waving the bartender away. 

“But he’s all I’ve got,” she admitted, blinking away tears. Maker, why did she always forget she was a teary-eyed drunk?

“I understand,” Cullen responded. Cautiously, he put a hand on her back and began to rub. The pity made her eyes burn and Evelyn bit the inside of her cheek to prevent the flood of tears.

“I’ll escort you back to the Arl’s.” Captain Rutherford stood and held out his arm. 

Evelyn shook her head and sipped her ale. “I can’t go back there. I’ll cry and I’ll be the talk of Denerim for weeks.”

“Many nobles visit this establishment,” he reminded her calmly. 

“Fine,” she groused and rose. “We’ll go to my family’s townhouse. But you have to do another shot first.”

~

By the maker, he was drunk. He hadn’t gotten drunk once since he was a green templar. And he was in Lady Evelyn Trevelyan’s townhouse in Denerim, with no household staff to speak of. All of the furniture was covered in muslin sheets and none of the mage lights were lit. From somewhere, Evelyn had pulled out another bottle of whisky, which thank Maker didn’t taste like medicine, and they had proceeded to drink nearly half of it.

“I liked it when you called me Evelyn earlier,” the mage admitted, slurring her words only slightly. She was sprawled across a couch in one of the bedchambers, where they’d managed to draw a fire in the hearth. Cullen was slumped halfway down an armchair, his stocking feet on the coffee table. He noticed he’d taken his boots off, but couldn’t remember when.

“I like your name,” he told her. “Evelyn… Eevelynne. Evvvvelin.”

She giggled and slid onto the floor. Her hair was already askew from removing that ridiculous hat without prying out the hat pins first. Cullen laughed and went to pick her up.

“You can call me Cullen,” he said, placing her back on the couch. Evelyn grabbed his hand and pulled him down next to her. 

“Cullen,” she said, deepening her voice. “Cullen is so manly.”

“Thank you,” he responded, leaning his head back. Evelyn adjusted her position and rested her head on his shoulder. Reflexively, Cullen put his arm around her. 

“You smell good,” she told him, sniffing him dramatically. “Like… sandalwood and… trees.”

Cullen laughed, and was amused to see Evelyn’s head bob as his chest moved. “I smell like trees?”

“Yes.”

“What kind of trees?”

“Mmmm,” she smelled him again. “Maple trees.”

“Evelyn,” Cullen said softly. He stroked her arm with his free hand.

“Mmm?” she asked.

“I’m sorry, about your brother, it’s tough to be alone.” She raised her head from his chest and blinked a few times, looking serious and sad. The expression cleared and she met his eyes.

“What?” he asked, searching her face. She kissed him. Cullen was so taken aback he didn’t react at first, but when Evelyn bit his lip his brain went into overdrive and he opened his mouth for her. Bless the maker this woman was good at making out. In no time she was straddling his lap, he was fully erect and her tongue was in his mouth.

She ground against him and pulled back. “Do you know you have the most amazing lips?”

Cullen cleared his throat and put his hands on her hips to steady her. He noticed her skirt had ridden up her thigh and he could see her garters. Did proper women wear anything below… He’d never been with anyone not in the order.

“Cullen?” she asked, her voice husky with desire.

“Uhh, okay, thank you,” he stuttered, struggling to meet her gaze. She bent down to kiss him again. 

Making out with Evelyn was like kissing fire. Her skin was hot and tasted amazing. Having her fingers trace the shell of his ear and sink into his hair felt like a healing balm. His cock was so hard he thought it might burst out of his pants. He suddenly needed to get her blouse off--he’d dreamt about her breasts.

His fingers stumbled on the tiny buttons. Evelyn laughed and helped him, then tore the shirt off and threw it to the floor. Why did women wear so many layers? She still had a corset and chemise to deal with. Fuck the undergarments, his stuck a hand inside her corset and freed one breast. Evelyn moaned at the intimate contact.

“I’ve dreamt about these,” Cullen admitted, freeing the other one. As he bent to suck on one hard nipple, Evelyn struggled to undo the eye hooks that held her corset closed in the front. 

“The other night,” he explained, pausing to suck her other nipple. “The dinner, that gown you had on.”

“I noticed,” she responded, giving up on the hooks and holding his head to her breast. “Oh, Cullen,” she gasped. One of his hands slid down her side and then beneath her skirt.

“Nothing,” he rasped. “You have nothing on under here.” A cold finger touched hot skin and Evelyn whimpered. 

“It’s  _ de rigueur _ ,” Evelyn explained while pushing back to stand in front of Cullen. “I want you.”

She turned around and pointed toward the buttons on her skirt. “Danielle will have my head if this skirt is irreparably wrinkled.”

Cullen, still drunk, experienced a moment of clarity but was afraid that if he called off their evening plans, this would never happen again. Besides, this was just one night. It would probably never happen again. Nothing to worry about. 

He hesitated for a moment, tossed a quick prayer to the maker, and undid the buttons of her skirt. Once Evelyn had wiggled it down her thighs, she quickly untied the laces of her petticoat and stood before him, bare from corset to garter. 

Maker, she was beautiful. From head to toe. Cullen drank in the sight of the auburn curly hair between her legs and her hardened nipples peeking over the top of her corset. Suddenly, Cullen realized what she was implying, and made haste to remove his trousers. Once his cock was in full view, he stroked it a moment and rested it upon his still clothed belly. He met Evelyn’s eyes and she straddled him again. 

“Are you sure?” he whispered, stroking her bare arms. He could feel the heat of her cunny on his cock and he wasn’t sure if he could stop once they started. 

“Positive,” she said before kissing him. She took his cock in her hand and stroked it for a few seconds.

Cullen cleared his throat and pulled her hand away. “Normally,” he explained. “Spirits make it difficult to… ahem, but if you keep doing that I’ll…”

Even drunk he couldn’t say cock. Maker he was embarrassed. But Evelyn just smiled at him, raised herself on her knees and positioned him at her entrance.

This is the moment, Cullen thought to himself, before she slowly slid down his length. Maker, she felt so good, so hot and wet, squeezing him inside of her.

“Fuck,” he grunted, pausing her movement. “You’re tight.”

“Your cock is so big,” she whispered into his ear, holding still. After a beat she started to move again. “I didn’t think this would happen.”

“Mmm,” Cullen groaned. “Neither did I. But Maker, it feels so fucking good.”

“You too.” Evelyn moaned and Cullen nearly came. 

“It’s been awhile,” Cullen admitted, slowing the pace. He looked down between them, at her damp dark auburn curls, his cock going in and out of her, her stockings and garters, and the white edge of her chemise peeking out from her corset. It was the sexiest thing he’d ever set his eyes on. Maker, he’d wanted this woman bad and knew he’d want her every day after. He was in trouble. 

That thought riled him up so much his release came, surprising them both. Cullen groaned loudly and dug his fingers into Evelyn’s sides as he pounded his hips into her, feeling the rest of his release. Evelyn moaned and kissed him.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered between kisses. He knew she hadn’t reached her climax.

“It’s okay,” she told him, kissing his cheek, his chin, his neck. 

“No, it’s not.” He threw her back onto the sofa and spread her legs. Before she could protest his mouth was on her. He drank up her arousal and his own release on his tongue, and didn’t care. All he wanted was to make this woman moan again and to feel her break apart against his mouth. 

It didn’t take long, thrusting in and out of her with his hand, laving her clit with his tongue. She cried out, almost pulling his hair out with her grip and squeezing her thighs so tightly around his head he thought his skull might crack. To Cullen, a concussion would have been worth it. 

Afterward they cuddled together on the sofa, Cullen spooning Evelyn, both watching the sun set outside the bedroom window. They’d sobered up a bit and the reality of what had happened began to set in.

“Do you regret this?” Evelyn asked quietly, holding his hand tightly against her breast. 

“Not even a little bit,” he whispered and kissed her hair. They’d deal with the consequences later. 


End file.
